Doctor-Patient Confidentiality Box Set

by Eme Strife

  We're all gathered backstage. I fumble with the large buttons at the collar of my blouse, flicking them between my thumb and forefinger in an effort to relieve some of the tension I feel.

  I'm super fidgety and I hate how much it shows. I do a few breathing and posture exercises as I mentally prepare myself for tonight. For all of tonight.

  The week has breezed by and it’s already Saturday. The day of the big performance is finally here.

  There are only twenty minutes left before the show begins, and I'm both incredibly excited and nervous. I'm always really nervous and excited right before performing, but I feel even more tightly wound this time around.

  I've been having a lot of trouble and doubt with preparing for this particular performance because of this thing with my stomach, and the fact that it's the most important performance I've had to date. I've managed to get the hitching under control over the course of the week while I practiced privately, and during rehearsals as well.

  "Gallo!" I turn at the sound of my name, wincing internally as I register who it's coming from.

  Vito.

  I walk over to her seated form as she takes down some last minute notes while everyone else does last minute touches and costume adjustments before we go on stage. I stop in front of her, but she doesn't bother to look up.

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  Her voice is cool and distant when she speaks. "Switch places with Daniels," she says.

  My eyes go wide, my brows arch high, and I stare at her nonchalant expression as she continues to vigorously scribble down whatever it is she's so focused on.

  For several seconds I remain frozen in absolute shock. I'm stunned beyond belief, and I feel as if I've just been sucker-kicked in the face.

  Surely, I must have misheard her.

  "Wh-what?" my words leave my throat in little above a whisper, clearly drenched in shock and disbelief.

  She finally meets my eyes, and her expression goes from typically stern and unbothered, to typically stern and sour, as if she's being pestered by an annoying gnat.

  "Unless you've been having as much trouble with your hearing as you have your singing, I'm sure you heard me perfectly,” she says. “Switch places with Daniels."

  She goes back to torturing the paper she's writing on with harsh strokes of her pen, as if she's envisioning scratching my face up with it.

  I struggle to swallow the lump that's quickly forming in my throat, feeling it constrict in the way that it does when you know you want to cry. What quickly follow are the beginnings of soreness that typically come with the feeling and the telling, stinging sensations behind my eyes.

  I can't believe it; I can't believe I'm being replaced so easily, right before a big performance, and without so much as a second thought.

  I feel like I'm being kicked in both my sides while I'm already down. I feel betrayed and absolutely humiliated.

  Still, I manage to keep my wits about me and try my best not to take it personally—even if that's so much easier said than done.

  Vito's silence ensues as she continues to act like I'm not standing there. I take a step back, turning away from her and her demeaning energy and vigorous scribbling.

  I quietly head back to the ensemble and assume my new position. Kayla walks past me, offering a small, apologetic smile as she takes hers. If Vito was going to replace me, she really should have done it with Wendy or someone else I hate or don't care for. I like Kayla. She's sweet and considerate, and it's obvious in her expression that she feels guilty about the switch.

  And it makes it so much harder for me because I can't be mad at her. As much as I want to hate her right now, I just can't. This isn't her fault.

  And as much as my currently hurt feelings want me to blame Vito, it's not really hers, either—although she certainly makes it pretty darn easy not to care and point the finger at her inconsiderate ass anyway.

  So I guess it's my fault, even if it isn't. I suppose saying that it's no one's fault and just an unfortunate turn of events should make me feel better about the situation, but it doesn't.

  I sigh. This sucks. I mean, this really, really sucks. I feel so defeated and helpless. I've been looking forward to this performance since last year, and I've worked my ass off, practicing every day for it despite the challenges I've been facing, and investing every free second I had into rehearsing for it, even during my breaks at work. And in the end, it was all for nothing, all because of something I can't control and can't even put a fucking name to.

  I don't know which aspect of it is more frustrating. I feel so disappointed, mostly in myself. At the end of the day, it's still my body, and therefore, my responsibility.

  If this keeps up, I have no doubt in my mind that Vito will continue to replace me for future performances without any hesitation. She's all business and no-nonsense, even if it's at someone else's expense, collateral damage be damned.

  I’m going to get that endoscopy, come hell or high water, and I’m going to get it real fucking soon if I can help it. I can’t afford to lose any more opportunities—no, scratch that—I absolutely refuse to lose any more opportunities, be it to Kayla or anyone else. Not after I’ve busted my ass off and endured everything that I have.

  I absolutely refuse to let Gran lose the house she’s spent the last twenty-seven years of her life in.

  And therefore, I also refuse to let the night end without knowing one hundred percent that I’ll be getting a Rainbow-Approved Card.

  Thinking about it really makes me sick to my stomach, but I have to bring my A-game to that mansion party, no matter how uncomfortable or anxious the prospect is making me. It’s the only way I can pay for my endoscopy and any other medical procedures I may need, and it’s the only way I can make sure Gran won’t lose her house.

  As much as I hate the thought of what I’m about to do and the things I might have to engage in, I hate the realities of our current situations infinitely more.

  I desperately need to get both our lives out of the slums and back on track as quickly as possible, and right now, the Rainbow Service is the only thing that’s going to help me do that. It probably—more like, sure as hell—won’t be the proudest couple of hours I’m going to spend of my life, but when it comes down to it, my pride isn’t worth that much in the real, practical world right now.

  ***

  The curtains rise slowly, revealing our ensemble of violinists and vocalists to an incredibly large, seated audience.

  The enormous stage lights are bright and feel hot against my face and neck, perfectly illuminating our musical assembly from high above our heads. The auditorium is packed, just as I expected it to be—as we all expected it to be.

  The annual Weitzman performance is one of the events that always gets sold out quickly. Last year, I was seated in the audience, far behind on the other side of the renowned stage my moccasin-clad feet are currently planted on. I had been restless at the time, feeling giddy and excited for the whole duration of the show as I watched my upperclassmen perform their hearts out.

  I’d been so eager to see the show that I ended up staying in my seat the whole time, even during the intermissions. I didn’t want to miss a second of the experience, even at the expense of my unhappy bladder, so I sat there for two and half straight hours in sheer amazement, just happily taking it all in. I kept imagining what it would feel like to be up here, and I couldn’t wait to find out. Now I know, although I never imagined I’d be feeling the disappointment I feel now.

  Get a grip, Roni! I mentally shake myself. I need to get out of this funky mood, at least for now. What’s done is done, and I’m here now. I may not be in the exact position I thought I’d be, I may not be in the exact position that I want, but I’m still here, dammit! And this is still a performance that I’m going to be judged on, one that’s going to count toward a good portion of my final grade at the end of the semester, so I have to bring my A-game, no matter what.

  Besides, when I really think about it, just having the pri
vilege to be on this stage is more than enough, and this moment is too important to me to not give it my absolute best, regardless of whatever else is going on in my life. There’s no point in beating myself up over what I can’t control.

  I don’t even have the time to fully process all the emotions running through my mind all helter-skelter. I’ll deal with all of it later. Right now, all I’m going to focus on is singing my ass off, because that’s all that matters.

  ***

  An energetic chorus of claps bursts through the auditorium, echoing and reverberating throughout the hall. The audience is full of smiles, and they all rise in a magnificent standing ovation to demonstrate their praise. The smacking sounds crack through the air and bounce off the walls and ceiling, making their way to the stage and back. A few whistles and verbal cheers make their way through the tidal wave of claps as well.

  The applause is even grander than the audience creating it. They’re clapping and cheering as if they’re getting paid to do it. It’s obvious that they really enjoyed the show.

  Normally, I’d be getting an incredible rush of adrenaline by now. I’d always imagined I’d be feeling ecstatic in this very moment, right after such a huge and highly anticipated show, but I feel anything but.

  I should be on ‘the ultimate high’ after seeing their reactions, I should be making my way up to cloud nine, but instead, all I feel is numb right now. Numb and demoralized and…unsure. Unsure of everything. Life seems to have a fondness for doing that to me lately. The curtain lowers and shields our ensemble from the view of the audience once again, but we can still hear the very audible slaps and smacks of their seemingly undying applause.

  “Oh, my gosh, you were great, Kayla!” I hear someone say. “The audience loved you!” they continue to gush.

  I’m afraid to turn and look to see who it is, so I don’t. That’s the last thing I want to be hearing right now. But honestly, it wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway. They’re right. Kayla did an amazing job. It’s a hard pill for me to swallow, but it’s the truth. Still, that doesn’t make admitting it or standing here and listening to their gushing any easier to deal with.

  I don’t want to be here right now. I can’t.

  I move away from the cluster of people gathering around Kayla and joining in on the gushing praise. I absently glance at my watch, and my heart does a double flip.

  Shit!

  I’m supposed to meet Nicole outside and I’m already running fifteen minutes late thanks to a few unforeseen delays that happened during the show. I grab all my stuff and quickly head toward the stairwell leading to the back entrance, but my plan is thwarted almost immediately.

  Swarms of performers are quickly gathering in front of it, completely blocking off the passageway. It’s already so packed with everyone standing around and congratulating each other, with a few people trying to one-up someone else. They’re all busy relishing the highs they’re on—like I should be doing, instead of scurrying to head to some rich guy’s party so that my potential whoring skills can be “assessed” by a scary woman who seems to be utterly obsessed with rainbows.

  God, this is turning out to be such a shitty night.

  It’s impossible to make my way through the back. My only other option is leaving the building through the main entrance—with everybody else from the audience. I really don’t want to take the front door route as I’m not at all in the mood, or have the time, for that matter, to make small talk with anyone, but right now, I don’t have a choice.

  I dash in the other direction, making my way through one of the backstage exits and into the auditorium once more. The hall is rowdy as streams of people shuffle out while some continue to remain seated or chat in little groups in the corner. The aisles are so much more packed than it is backstage, but at least people are moving here.

  I do my best to wiggle through, smiling and saying ‘thank you’ when a few people congratulate me and tell me I did a “great job”. I only do it for the sake of being polite and as a gesture of common courtesy. I really don’t feel like I deserve to be congratulated on anything right now. I did my best, but I know I wasn’t at my best. And that makes all the difference.

  As I keep walking, I think I hear someone call my name, but I’m not sure so I ignore it. I continue shuffling among the masses of people with even more urgency, eager to get out of the annoying cluster as quickly as possible. But then, I hear my name again, and it’s loud and clear this time.

  “Ramona!”

  I’m a bit startled by the sound of the deep voice, and I turn to see none other than Jamie Wrighton walking up to me from a few feet away.

  My eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s dressed formally, in a well-fitting dark grey suit and navy blue tie. He actually looks pretty fancy. I’m honestly surprised to see him here. I hadn’t really pegged someone like him to attend these kind of events.

  He sidesteps a few people as he makes his way over to me with ease, towering over everyone around him. It’s almost as if people automatically just part and make way for him wherever he goes, and I’m not sure if it’s because of his height or because he’s the school’s star quarterback. Maybe both. Either way, right now I don’t have time to try to decipher it, and I certainly don’t have the time to make small talk with him.

  “Ramona, hey,” he smiles, finally stopping just a few inches in front of me.

  “Jamie…hey,” I say. It’s probably the lamest attempt at a greeting, but I’m not exactly sure what else to say. He’s the last person I expected to be talking to tonight.

  “You were great out there,” he says, giving me another encouraging smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling somewhat unsure. I have no idea where this conversation is going, but I don’t have time to stick around to find out.

  I shift my weight onto my other foot by force of habit; something I do when I’m in an uncomfortable situation that I’m trying to get out of, or if I’m being bogged down somewhere when I really need to be somewhere else.

  He starts to speak again. “Hey, listen. I was wondering—”

  “I’m glad you liked the show but I really need to get going. Good seeing you again,” I quickly say, stopping his words short.

  I don’t mean to cut him off. I honestly do it unintentionally. I really hate that I sound rude right now and I wish I could apologize, but I’m certainly not about to give him—or anyone else—any more opportunities to keep me here any longer.

  I turn before he can say anything else and practically run through the remainder of the crowd as fast as I can.

  I hear him call out from behind me one last time before I head through the exit. “Yeah…good seeing you again, too.”

  As soon as I’m out of the building, I immediately spot Nicole’s car ahead.

  Okay, it’s not like I really tried to spot it. It’s literally right there, parked right in front of the main entrance, in a very unauthorized parking space.

  I can only shake my head in disbelief at the proverbial balls she has to do something like this, and on a day like this one, no less. This chick is really something else.

  I quickly close the distance, not bothering to mention how blatantly she’s breaking the law, because with Nicole, that would just be a waste of time. But at least she’s here, just like she promised she would be.

  She puts her window down as she sees me approaching. I can’t read her expression behind the large Guess aviators sitting proudly on her face. I guess she likes to stay fashionable year round, even in shit weather.

  She gestures with a slight cock of her head to the side. “Get in.”

  ***

  About twenty-fives minutes later, we're on the other side of the city and a ways away from campus, pulling into a bound parking lot. I take a quick scan of the apartment complex through my slightly foggy window. It looks really nice; clean and fairly quiet, with great lighting from tall street lamps generously scattered all over the sidewalks.

&nbs
p; The engine dies and its motoring sound is replaced by those of screaming crickets, croaking frogs, and other typical nightlife as we reluctantly embrace the cold air once again.

  "This way," she says, pointing toward a wide brick pavement that stretches and bends into a semi-circle.

  As we follow its path, the yellow brick road from The Wizard of Oz comes to mind, and I can't help but find my comparison of it to this pavement ironic and quite fitting at the same time.

  If there's one thing that movie taught me, it's that brick roads only lead to trouble, and I can only imagine the kind of trouble this particular one is going to land me in. This may not be Kansas, but it's still the frickin' Midwest.

  We walk up to a door—presumably hers—and I immediately notice the welcome mat below it that reads, 'WELCOME, BITCHES!'

  I smile and shake my head. That's definitely Nicole for you. On some level, I actually admire her carefree attitude and sense of humor. She's kind of like Trixie in that aspect. Sometimes, I really wish I could be that way; I wish I didn't always care so much about what people think.